Vicious Memories

Chapter 13

"Hello?" I called softly. "Anyone out here?"

The light was stronger at the stream's edge, refracting off its surface in a thousand shades of silver and gray. The wind and whispering water barely reached my ears.

"Hello?" I tried again. "It's Ollie."

That absence of a response did nothing to still the intense beating of my heart, especially when I considered that the past thirty-six hours had seen a murder in this very village and a savage attack in the jungle. I mentally crossed my fingers, hoping that none of the guards patrolling tonight came through and assaulted me by accident.

I paced left, downstream. This muddy stretch of ground was littered with leaves, sticks, stones, and bushes. A few larger branches had broken off from the trees across the creek, lying on their sides in the mud.

Something growled at me.

I stopped, backed up, then took a step forward again.

Another growl.

I tried to pinpoint where the sound was coming from, my eyes sweeping the area. After a minute my efforts were rewarded.

"Hey there, bud," I said, taking slow steps forward. "What are you doing here all alone?"

I squatted down, received a weak growl in response.

In the shadows beneath two larger branches that crossed over each other, hidden from the grasping fingers of moonlight, a deeper pool of darkness curled in upon itself. It expanded and contract slightly and, this close to it, I could hear its soft breathing.

I reached a hand forward and gently touched soft black fur. The sound that came back was low and tired. It didn't seem about to run away, so I put a second hand beneath its belly and lifted it out of the mud, wondering if it was sick.

We trekked away a few yards and settled into the grass. The dog settled in my lap.

"Don't worry, little guy," I said, a warm feeling spreading through me. "I've got you."

He looked young, hardly older than a puppy, but had already grown to twenty pounds or so. Jet black fur covered him from head to toe, which was why I hadn't been able to see him at first. Sleepy brown eyes stared up at me. Slowly, they drew closed, and a pink tongue slipped out of his mouth for just a second.

"Why are you all alone?" I asked. "What's wrong?"

His breathing was heavy and he limbs were scrawny - he was malnourished and had likely abandoned. I hadn't seen any other dogs his age or coloring around. I pegged him as some kind of lab-shepherd mix, and my heart broke a little bit for him.

I remembered Mohammed talking about the dogs earlier, while we were cooking dinner.

"I've trained about two dozen so far," he had said. "I must have worked with them in my past life. They're good dogs, most of them, totally wild when we first got here but not vicious or rabid, and easy enough to tame and train with food. They mostly help by sticking around the village, keeping other animals away, providing an advance warning if someone is approaching. Some of the smarter ones I've trained to help with tracking and hunting. Those are just the healthy ones, though. There are a lot of sick ones that don't make it, and we aren't running an animal shelter here. We don't have time to care for every sick dog, bird, or lizard on this island."

I shifted my weight and the little dog's eyes flew open. He took a swat at my face and caught me across the cheek. Fast paws, I thought. He tried to bat my face again, but I extended my arms, holding him out in the air.

We eyed each other warily.

"Are you done?" I asked. "Think you're Muhammad Ali?"

He huffed, his pink tongue slipping out of his mouth again.

"You do, do you? Think you're a big time boxer?"

That elicited a head tilt, and I smiled. I got to my feet, cradling him in my arms.

"Boxer is as good a name as any," I said. "Or Box, since everyone around here seems to shorten their name."

Box barked once, quietly, and I took that as agreement.

"Screw it, I guess." I began the short walk back up the slope toward my tent. "If I'm going to be stuck here, I might as well have a friend."